


keep me in your orbit

by nobirdstofly



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, First Time, Forced Proximity, Getting Together, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobirdstofly/pseuds/nobirdstofly
Summary: Tommy frowns at Lovett. “Jon said it gets better when you and Emily are near each other?"Lovett looks to Jon, the turncoat. “Yeah, that about covers it.”





	keep me in your orbit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laliandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laliandra/gifts).



> lal, I hope this hits the spot for you! just some tropey, warm fluff for springtime. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who listened to me whine about this! the best cheerleaders in the WORLD. and big thanks to electr1c_compass, my personal go-to for all things Emily, who gave me hope that this idea might work. title from Ariana Grande's NASA.

It starts like — well, neither of them know exactly how it starts. But it continues like —

“Emily has… I guess a migraine? She said it feels different, but her head’s been killing her all day,” Jon says, waving his phone like Lovett had any doubt about how Jon received that information. Tommy took off half an hour ago to go to dinner with friends of Hanna's, and Lovett feels like neither of them have made much headway since. Jon shrugs. “I thought we could watch The Bachelor and distract her?”

Lovett doesn’t mention his own headache, doesn’t mention that it’s primarily Jon’s job to distract his wife. “Sure,” Lovett says, hand flexing on the strap of his backpack for a second before he clips on Pundit’s leash. “My color commentary’s way better than yours anyway.”

Jon laughs and pockets his phone. “Yeah, that’s the idea.” He scoops Leo into his arms, leash conspicuously absent, and takes a second to bury his face in Leo’s neck, smiling into the curly fur.

Lovett looks away. If he wants to see a Norman Rockwell painting, he’ll go to the Getty.

He follows Jon’s car when they leave, and the farther Lovett gets from the office, the more the ache in his head dissipates. Maybe it’s the stress of work catching up with him, or allergies. A bunch of stuff has been blooming lately, according to Tanya, who’s been sneezing furiously every twenty minutes and making sure the interns are on top of replacing Kleenex boxes.

Jon waits at the door for Lovett to go into his own house, like he needs to be a good chaperone after Lovett’s been here a million times, both with and without Jon. As soon as Lovett steps inside, a weight off his shoulders that he didn’t know he was carrying sloughs off. His head feels better, lighter, than it has all day. By the time he sits next to Emily, following her insistent couch cushion patting, it’s virtually gone.

She sighs and leans into him, trying to arrange her head so her glasses don’t dig into her skull thanks to the press of his shoulder. “Hi,” she says, her gaze firmly fixed on the television. “This is great. This is what I’ve been needing all day.”

Lovett darts a glance at Jon, his stomach roiling with her words. Surely _Jon_ is what she needs, above all else. There’s nothing Lovett’s doing that Jon couldn’t. But Jon is smiling at them from the nearby armchair, looking serene and happy. He smiles wider when he sees Lovett looking.

“Do you need anything?” Jon asks, his eyes moving between both of them. “Excedrin? Tylenol?” He pauses a long time, smiling wider like he has a joke in store. “Vodka?”

“Ooooh,” Emily says, drawing the sound out, “not vodka, but wine would be nice. Wouldn’t it, Lovett?”

“Sure. Thanks, Jon,” Lovett says, out of deference to Emily’s elbow in his ribs.

“I’m thinking Thai?” Emily asks Lovett, when Jon comes back with a bottle and three glasses. “I had a dream about larb salad.”

“Weirdo,” Jon says fondly, kissing her temple and smiling conspiratorially at Lovett over her head, pressing a very full wine glass into her hand. “What do you think, Jon?”

“Thai sounds great,” Lovett says, vaguely remembering his own dream last night. It had something to do with gnocchi, or maybe wings? He just remembers a hunger so gnawing it made him nauseous. He’d gotten a Sausage McMuffin on his way into the office and put it out of his head until now. “You’re getting it from that little place next to the pizza place that we got last time, right?”

Emily scoffs. “Obviously. Best spring rolls in this town.”

“Awesome. I want pad see ew,” Lovett says.

“He wants fried rice, too,” Emily adds, “and so do I.”

Jon rolls his eyes but he’s grinning. “Anything else, your majesties?”

“Satay,” Lovett and Emily say at the same time, and Lovett matches her conspiratorial grin while watching Jon throw his head back with laughter.

After they’ve gorged themselves on takeout, complained loudly at the TV for ninety minutes, and polished off a bottle between them, Lovett calls it a night. He charitably lets both the Favreaus hug him and carries Pundit to the car.

It’s not until he’s getting ready for bed that he realizes his headache is back. He takes two ibuprofen and drains a glass of water, chalking it up to the wine, and wishes he’d brought home his leftovers. He makes a mental note to text Jon in the morning, hinting he should bring them in for lunch, and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

 

When he wakes up at six with a pounding at his temples and the base of his skull, he assumes it’s a migraine. He tries to google the symptoms, but the light from his phone makes everything even sharper. He rolls over, grumbling, and finds Pundit’s fur in the dark, letting the steady rhythm of her sleep breathing lull him back under. It’ll be better when it’s actual daylight hours, he tells himself.

It’s not any better at eight. It’s a thousand times worse, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he’s dry heaving into the toilet. It feels like his head’s splitting open, and he flinches when Pundit barks in concern. Or because she needs to go out, he really doesn’t know. He grits his teeth and grabs his phone, following her to the backdoor, trying to open his eyes as little as possible.

It takes four tries to type a text to Jon sitting on the kitchen floor after getting Pundit fresh food and water. She’s licking comfortingly at his face when he sends, _Are migraines contagious? I think either Emily or the food you ordered is trying to kill me_.

Jon’s reply is almost immediate. _Do you have anything to help you sleep? Emily took her migraine meds and went back to bed_.

 _Yeah_ , Lovett sends, feeling bad that Emily’s still sick and hating himself for not keeping his stash of edibles in reaching distance of the floor.

He makes it as far as the couch before he crashes, face buried in a throw pillow to block the light, Pundit a warm weight on his legs. He spends the next several hours tossing and turning, the pain muted by the THC, but now it doesn’t feel like it’s only in his head. It’s spawned in his chest, too, radiating out from there, so every thump of his heart aches.

The buzzing of his phone on the coffee table wakes him up that evening. It’s Jon, so he grits his teeth and answers, hand to his chest. He makes a noise into the phone, trusting Jon to know he means, _Hello_ , or, more accurately, _I think I’m dying_.  
  
“I know this is going to sound crazy,” Jon says straight away, keeping his voice low even while Lovett can hear the traffic around him, “but I’m coming over with Emily.”

“Really not in the mood to see people right now. Not even you two,” Lovett says, or thinks he says. It’s possible he just groans into the phone.

“Yeah, well. Nothing else is working.” Jon is irritated, Lovett realizes, which probably means he’s concerned. Lovett sighs.

“Let yourself in, I can’t move,” he says.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he hears his front door unlock and open, followed by Pundit’s nails on the tile. She barks, once, and Lovett groans again. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did earlier in the afternoon, though, when she’d barked for some other random, angelic reason.

“Oh my god,” he hears Emily say, and he cracks his eyes fully open for the first time in hours. She’s leaning heavily against Jon, looking like she never changed out of pajamas today either. “Oh my _god_ ,” she says again, and the naked relief in her words and on her face is obvious.

Lovett feels it, too, the way the pain is leaching out of him. He groans again, this time in relief, a guttural sound he’d be embarrassed of if he wasn’t suddenly, blissfully free of pain.

“Okay,” Jon says, “what the fuck is going on?”

“Lovett, you’re _magic_ ,” Emily says, practically flinging herself onto the couch, barely giving Lovett enough time to sit up and give her room.

“It was my idea,” Jon says, a little petulant, but he’s smiling softly.

“What _is_ going on?” Lovett presses. “Why don’t I feel like I want to die anymore?” He looks at Emily. “Are you magic?”

She shakes her head. “Not with the way I’ve felt all day.”

“So you both feel better… now,” Jon says, gesturing between them.

“One-hundred percent,” Lovett says.

“God, yes. Food?” Emily says, and Jon rolls his eyes and pulls his phone out.

When they’re halfway through dinner, Jon says, out of nowhere, “You should come home with us.”

“Excuse me?” Lovett says through a mouthful of pasta.

“Well,” Jon says, setting down his plastic fork, “clearly you two can’t be apart from each other for that long. Maybe it’ll be better if you spend the night in the same house?”

“Emily could stay here,” Lovett says, just to be combative. Jon looks unimpressed, but Emily smiles at him.

“If that’s what you want, I can do that,” she says. She looks so tired, some of her normal radiance robbed by whatever the fuck they’ve both gone through today. He thinks of how Jon took care of her, and him, by bringing her here. How he fixed it for both of them.

Lovett sighs. “I’ll pack a bag after we eat.”

 

The first night, Lovett sleeps in the grossly well-appointed guest room, down the hall from the master. He feels refreshingly normal in the morning, enough that he risks going to Barry’s before work.

Tommy pats his back, smiling, when he shows up. “Feeling better?”

Lovett smiles back. “I, uh. Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

The good feeling lasts for a few hours into work, while Lovett’s trying to catch up on all the news he missed, when his headache starts coming back. It’s followed almost immediately by his chest seizing, and he can’t help the way he gasps aloud.

“Again?” Jon says, suddenly at Lovett’s side, proffering a La Croix. “Weird, Emily hasn’t said anything yet.”

Lovett makes it another hour, trying not to decimate the office’s supply of painkillers. He’s considering trying to nap on the couch when Jon pipes up, “Oh, Emily texted. Her too. She’s going home in a little while. I can take you?”

Tommy frowns at Lovett. “Jon said it gets better when you and Emily are near each other?”

Lovett looks to Jon, the turncoat. “Yeah, that about covers it.”

“Do you think you should get it checked out?”

“By who?" Lovett asks incredulously. "Whom? It’ll be fine, once I’m with Emily.”

“Not a great long term plan,” Tommy says. “I’ll make some calls, ask around.”

“What, like your super secret intelligence contacts will know what the fuck is happening to me?”

Tommy just looks at him. “Yeah, they might, asshole. I’ve actually heard of something like this before. Want me to call around, or not?”

“Yeah, fucking.” Lovett laughs, joylessly. He keeps hoping this isn’t an actual incident. That it’s just a weird one-off that will go away on its own. Not something the government might know about. “Fucking do your thing. Thanks, Tommy.”

Tommy nods. “Will do. You wanna suffer in dignity from here on out?”

“Not my style,” Lovett says, and Jon’s already laughing from the second he opens his mouth.

 

By the next morning, Lovett and Emily can’t get more than thirty feet apart from each other without the pain rushing back in. Or, well. They think it’s thirty feet.

“I bet Tommy’s got a measuring tape,” Jon says. He’s wringing his hands in the armchair, staring at both of them on the couch with obvious concern.

“We have a measuring tape, babe,” Emily says, rolling her eyes to Lovett. “It’s in the toolbox.”

“Laundry room?” Jon asks, with the guile of a man who’s had Lovett hang everything that’s on his walls and paid for furniture assembly his whole life.

“Laundry room,” Emily affirms. “Hand me my phone? Guess I’m working from home today.”

“You could come in with us,” Jon says. He looks excited by the prospect, but Emily looks anything but.

“How would we explain that, Jon?” she asks, keeping her voice soft and level. “I can’t just tag along and work at Lovett’s desk all day. People will ask, and it’ll be weird. For everyone.”

“Bring your spouse to work day,” Lovett says. “Doesn’t quite have the right ring to it.”

Jon frowns at them. “Lovett could go with you instead?”

“Still weird,” Emily says. “Sorry,” she adds to Lovett, smiling guiltily.

“Don’t be, it is.”

Jon sighs and kisses Emily goodbye before he leaves for work. He hesitates for a second, looking down at Lovett on the couch. “I guess I’ll see you later,” he says, stilted.

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good day at the office, honey,” Lovett says, and it’s worth it for the way Jon goes red and he rushes to get out of the house. When Lovett looks up, Emily’s watching him. “What?”

She shakes her head, opening her laptop. “Nada. What do you have to do today?”

 

Jon comes home that night with food and Tommy in tow. Tommy turns down the sandwich Jon tries to give to him. “Some of us actually use Blue Apron.”

“So, what do you know?” Emily asks, sitting forward eagerly. Lovett finds himself mirroring her.

“Neither of you know how it started, right?”

“Oh!” Lovett exclaims. “Now that you mention it, of course I do. Em, remember that gypsy in the dog park last week?”

“Oh yeah,” Emily says, deadpan and rolling her eyes. “Why didn’t we think of that before.”

Jon’s giggling, and Tommy’s clearly trying not to. He keeps a mostly straight face as he says, “Anyway. No one seems to know why or how it happens—”

“Of course,” Emily says, her mouth twisting unhappily. Jon reaches out to take her hand comfortingly. Lovett holds onto Pundit a little tighter.

“Yeah, right?” Tommy says. “But it will get worse before it gets better, is the going theory.”

“But it will get better,” Jon repeats. “Right, Tom? Tell ‘em.”

Tommy nods. “There don’t seem to be any, like, lasting effects or, or fatal cases or anything.”

“Sure, that they know of,” Lovett says. Jon reaches over and flicks his shoulder, hard. “Ouch! I’m just saying—”

“You guys’ll be unable to get farther and farther apart from each other,” Tommy continues, raising his voice. “But then, and this is the stupid part. Then it seems like some, uh, something will happen that will make you normal again.”

“Something,” Emily says, flat. She’s gripping Jon’s hand so hard it has to hurt a little, Lovett can see where his skin is going white around her fingers, but Jon’s not saying a word. He’s just solid and steady by her side.

“Yeah, it’s— this isn’t, like. A total science.” Tommy rubs his hands together, looking away from all of them. “It seems like it’s usually something you have to overcome, like an emotional or, uh, sexual… thing. That breaks it.”

Lovett can’t help but look over at Emily, and he’s relieved to find she’s just as wide-eyed as he is.

“But it might not have to be!” Tommy rushes to say. “It definitely wasn’t in all the cases that— that my contacts knew about.”

Lovett nods, slowly, wondering what emotional barrier he and Emily have to cross. What unresolved thing is forcing them to spend time with each other, like they don’t already do that all the time.

Tommy slaps his thighs and stands up. “Alright then! I’m gonna go home, to my wife and food I'm capable of making myself, and forget we ever had this awkward conversation. Emily, Lovett, nice to see you. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

“Maybe it’ll be better now that we know,” Jon says after Tommy leaves, but even he doesn’t sound hopeful for once. “We can, like, prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Emily asks, picking at her turkey wrap.

Jon shrugs and smiles brightly. “I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to know more, right? If it is what, uh. What Tommy said, then we’ll figure it out.”

Emily nods and bumps her shoulder into Lovett’s. “For sure.”

“The, the emotional thing, right?” Lovett’s impressed by how even his own voice comes out.

“Either,” Emily says, not quite looking at him. She doesn’t look upset, but there’s the faintest blush staining her cheeks.

“Both,” Jon says around a bite, looking totally unperturbed.

“If we have to,” Lovett clarifies. This seems like an important distinction to make.

“Sure,” Jon says easily. “If we have to.”

 

The next morning, it is, apparently, bad enough that Emily wakes him up early. “C’mon,” she says, and Lovett feels only a lingering soreness in his chest and head. He thinks he was having a nightmare, but he feels fine and calm, if a little tired.

“Come on,” Emily says again. “I’m hungry and I want coffee, and apparently I can’t be more than ten feet from you.”

It’s less than ten feet they realize quickly — and painfully. Emily makes them omelettes, and Lovett stays dutifully nearby after making sure the dogs have plenty of fresh food and water for when they’re back from their run. He finds the least offensive K-Cup he can and posts up at the island, watching the sureness of her movements. He doesn’t associate either of them with cooking, but Emily knows what she’s doing, knows where everything is, with ease. The omelette’s nothing fancy, nothing like what he’d get out at brunch, but it’s good. Lovett does his crossword and Emily reads entertainment news, sharing the best stories aloud.

It’s — nice, almost sickeningly domestic. They’re mostly quiet, enjoying each other’s forced company. At one point, Emily looks up and smiles at him, her glasses sliding down her nose and her hair a mess.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, I just.” She smiles and looks down at her phone and back up. “I’m glad it was you, if it had to be anyone.”

His heart does something painful, though not near as painful as their separation has been lately. He doesn’t say anything, but he knocks his ankle against hers under the table and leaves it there.

Jon comes in with the dogs when they’re almost finished eating, soaked with sweat. He wipes his face off with the hem of his t-shirt before he leans down to kiss Emily, and Lovett looks away from all the literally glistening skin.

Jon grabs the plate with the omelette Emily had left out for him and collapses into the chair between them, still damp. “Have you asked him yet?”

Lovett narrows his eyes. “Asked me what?”

Emily glares at Jon for a second before turning to Lovett. “I was hoping it wouldn’t still be an issue,” she starts with, which makes Lovett’s stomach twist uncomfortably. She sighs. “We’re having a gala tomorrow night, for work. Obviously I was supposed to bring this bozo.” She hooks her thumb at Jon, and he sticks his tongue out at her in response. “Due to… present circumstances, I was thinking maybe you could come with me instead?”

Lovett gasps as if in shock. “You want me to accompany you, one of my best friends, to an expensive party with famous people? Where there’s free food and presumably an open bar? How dare you, Emily Black Favreau. How _dare_ you?”

“You will have to wear a tux,” Jon points out, through his laughter.

Lovett smiles at Emily. “I think I’ll manage.”

By the next day, it’s hard for them to get more than five feet from each other or go half an hour without touching, skin on skin. “Have we discussed,” Lovett says, sitting on a folding chair right next to the Peloton in their garage while Emily’s workout winds down, “how absurd this is?”

“Absurd?” Emily pants, wiping her face with a towel. She reaches out to clasp his hand briefly, staving off the headache Lovett can feel starting. “No, it hadn’t occurred to me at all. This is all totally normal.”

“Totes,” Lovett says, mostly to watch the way Emily quirks a smile. “Love to have my bodily autonomy challenged.”

Emily’s smile slides off her face. “Come on, let’s figure out how the hell we’re going to take showers. I’m not pulling some summer camp, wear-your-swimsuit bullshit.”

“Do girls really do that?” Lovett asks as they go inside.

The solution to the shower problem is less than ideal. “I’m sorry,” Emily says for the millionth time. “I’m trying to hurry.”

“I know. Seriously, I’m fine.” Lovett’s sitting with his back to the shower, propped up against the tub, just a thin, thin curtain separating them. “The sheer curtain is a, uh. Inspired choice.”

He can hear the smirk in Emily’s voice when she says, “Newlyweds. We bought it right after the wedding.”

Lovett swallows and shifts where he’s sitting, wondering what Jon would do if he was in Lovett’s position. Wondering how often one of them has watched the other, has went ahead and pulled the curtain aside and just climbed in.

“Do you want a turn next?” Emily asks, and Lovett thinks for a wild second that she’s asking him to join her. That she can hear his thoughts now, too. When he doesn’t answer right away, gaping like a fish out of water, she pokes her head out, her hair dripping on him. “The water should stay hot, and I have to dry my hair in here anyway.”

“Sure,” Lovett says, hoping he sounds normal.

 

The gala would be great. It would be, it really would, if Lovett didn’t have to keep putting his arm around Emily for photos, or if she didn’t keep taking his hand so they’re free from pain. Every time she tugs him into a photo, he has nowhere to put his hand on her back besides a swath of bare skin. Her dress is a luminous white halter thing that’s high on her neck and entirely backless. He tries to put some distance between them, tries not to let people assume they’re married when she introduces him as "Jon," but it gets harder as the night goes on, both of them tipsy on free champagne. It’s easier, at some point, to just hold hands and let people think what they think.

He ducks away to the bathroom at one point, leaving her in the hall, and they’re both grimacing by the time he’s back. She takes his hand immediately, even though it’s still damp thanks to the bathroom attendant being stingy with the paper towels, and they both sigh in relief.

“Maybe we should head home soon,” she says, leaning into him, and he leans just as much back.

Jon’s asleep on the couch when they get in, his head tipped back against Leo, sprawled over his shoulders. His mouth is hanging open, and the long line of his throat looks inviting. Lovett shakes his head and tries to pull back from Emily, but she holds him tight.

“Hey, baby,” she says, shaking Jon gently. “You gotta get up.”

Jon smiles at her blearily when he wakes up, and at Lovett. So eternally pleased to see them both, even after Lovett stole his place tonight. “You guys look good,” he says, voice gravely in a way that Lovett has zero opinions about. It’s only after he stands and stretches that he frowns a little. “Take the bed, I can sleep in the guest room.”

Right, Lovett realizes, because he and Emily can’t be apart a whole night, and being in the same house isn’t enough anymore. “We can take the guest room,” he offers.

“Speak for yourself,” Emily says, prompting Jon to laugh. He and Emily kiss goodnight, a slow, purposeful press of lips that looks like it’d turn heated if Emily wasn’t still holding Lovett’s hand, Jon’s own, bigger hand spread across her tiny waist. Jon hugs Lovett, after, and Lovett swears he feels Jon drop a light kiss to his hair. He has to be imagining it. He had too much to drink, is all. Too many turns on the parquet dance floor trying to remember how to waltz.

When they’re in bed, later, half-asleep and still drunk in the dark, arms stretched across the middle of the mattress so they can touch each other, Lovett can’t help asking, “Are you okay?”

Emily squeezes his hand. “I miss my husband,” she says, her voice so soft Lovett has trouble catching it. He lies there, guilty at how he can smell Jon’s stupid 3-in-1 soap on the pillow under his head, but she’s asleep by the time he thinks of anything to say back to her.

 

They spend the weekend at the house, ordering in, getting literally closer and closer together as Jon hovers. As long as they sit close together and prioritize skin-on-skin contact, it doesn’t get much worse by Monday. Lovett wears gym shorts when he video conferences into a meeting with Jon, Tommy, and Sarah in the evening, so that Emily can slide her bare toes under his thigh, out of sight, and he can still talk (emphatically, Emily’s word) with this hands.

When he gets off the call, he grins at her, grabbing her ankle for a second and shaking her leg. “See? We’re making it work. Problem solvers, that’s what we are. Two brilliant problem solvers.”

Emily bites her lip and looks back down at her laptop. She hums noncommittally and keeps typing, shrugging one shoulder. Lovett nods to himself and goes back to his own work. Sure, it’s not — it’s not _great_ , none of this is. But he’s proud of how well they’ve been handling it, so far. Well, he’s proud of himself for not having a freak-out in front of Emily yet. Or Jon.

 _No change still?_ Jon texts their group chat, and, before either of them have time to respond, he follows up with, _Tommy says you might have to try getting closer._

Lovett exchanges a look with Emily before typing out, _Closer?_

Emily’s phone rings, Jon calling. “What do you mean, ‘closer’?” she asks, putting him on speaker.

“Uh, hey, Em, it’s Tommy, too.” He’s on speakerphone, so they’re probably standing together in their office — where Lovett should be.

“What’s up?” Emily says slowly, not looking away from Lovett.

“I talked to, um. I got more information. About this thing you guys are dealing with. Apparently it can be helpful if you’re… intimate. It can make it better, after.”

“Intimate?” Lovett asks faintly, and suddenly he can’t look at Emily anymore. He stares at the lit-up iPhone in her hand, praying Tommy and Jon will say it’s all a joke. A big, elaborate, mean joke.

“Intimate,” Tommy repeats, voice flat.

“Like sex, Lovett,” Jon adds. Like Lovett’s being purposely obtuse. Like this is a totally normal ask, for him to sleep with Jon’s wife.

“We’re not— how? What?” Emily says. She’s still looking at Lovett, he can feel the weight of her stare.

“Just an idea,” Tommy says. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything new, and I hope, well. You know. I’m gonna walk away now. Talk to Jon.”

“Hey,” Jon says, his voice closer, and Lovett hears the office door close behind Tommy.

“Hey,” Emily and Lovett say at the same time.

“I don’t want to pressure you guys, or. I guess this is— we could talk about it? When I get home?”

“We could,” Lovett agrees. “But what if we never did again?”

Emily kicks him, but not too hard. “Alright, babe. Have a good rest of your day. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Jon says. “And whatever you— you want, or need. It’s all, you know. It’s okay. Like we said.”

Lovett’s mouth is so dry he feels like he’s going to choke. He’s guzzling Diet Coke when Emily hangs up. He forces himself to look at her, and now she’s the one looking away. “‘Like we said?’”

“We, Jon and I. We’ve talked about, like. When this, this started. How— you know.”

“I know?” Lovett asks incredulously.

Emily throws her hands up, thankfully keeping a tight grip on her phone. She looks directly at him, steeling herself, when she says, “I haven’t been able to touch him, or— or myself, in days. Neither have you!”

Lovett shifts in his seat, extremely aware of her toes under his thigh. Suddenly Emily saying, _I miss my husband_ , takes on a totally new tone. He hasn’t really thought about it, what it must be like for them. He has his fair share of sex, but he’s not used to the easy intimacy that they have. They’re fucking married, and they can’t even sleep in the same bed because of him.

“Do you think,” he says slowly, “that this might actually work? That if we do something more— intimate, that we could be apart for longer?”

Emily shrugs. “I have no idea, but can it hurt to try?”

“Guess not,” Lovett says. _It could ruin our friendship_ , he doesn’t say, because he knows by the cautious look on her face that Emily’s thinking it, too.

“We could try, um.” Emily’s biting her lip, staring at her own hands where they’re twisted on top of her keyboard. “What if we don’t look at each other? Like, during.”

“During?” Lovett asks. His voice squeaks a little in a way he’s not proud of.

She fixes him with an unamused look, and it reminds him so much of Jon his breath catches. “Yes, Lovett. I won’t watch you, and you won’t watch me, and we’ll both jerk it.”

He laughs, startled, and she breaks, too, a smile stretching across her face. “Jerk it,” Lovett says, his voice mostly air from laughing.

“I— I’m serious,” Emily says. “We can’t just keep, we don’t know how long this’ll last. I’d like to come again at some point in the future. Preferably the near future.”

 _I’d like to get back to my vigorous sex life,_ she doesn’t say, but Lovett hears it anyway. He can see her face going a little red under her tan.

“What,” Lovett says, “are we gonna, gonna hang a sheet between us like we’re in a 1930s rom-com?”

Emily rolls her eyes, but she sounds a little nervous as she says, “I figured we could just, you know. Get under the covers. We can put pillows between us if you want.”

“Like straight guys sharing a bed?”

She spreads her hands wide. “A heteronormative no-man’s-land, if you will.”

“While we… masturbate. Next to each other,” he clarifies, and Emily nods, sharply. He finds himself nodding along. It’s not the _worst_ idea, and it’s not fair of him to deny her, to deny either of them, the chance that it could work. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She reaches out a hand for him, and he meets her halfway.

“Sure,” Lovett says. “What’s a little almost-sex between friends?”

 

It takes them nearly fifteen minutes to decide on a playlist, because neither of them feel great about trying to watch something. By the time they’ve chosen something unobtrusive and turned it loud enough to hopefully drown out anything each other are doing, Lovett’s heart is beating fast. He waits until he’s under the covers to push down his shorts, dropping them over the side of the bed, and Emily does the same with her sweats. When she takes off her underwear, he follows suit.

They’re both still wearing shirts, which Lovett’s grateful for, the covers pulled up halfway. He’s in a henley he’s pretty sure was meant to be Jon’s, sent to his house by mistake, and Emily’s wearing an old U of R shirt, worn and soft looking.

“It’d be really useful right now,” Emily says, holding onto Lovett’s hand tight on top of the sheets, “if one of us was Jon.” She blushes even more. “Not like that! If one of us was left-handed, I mean. So that we could still, you know.” She squeezes his hand, and he laughs weakly.

“Okay. Okay, I’m gonna…” she trails off and lets go of his hand. “I guess just… if you need to— to touch.”

Lovett nods tightly, slipping his own hand below the sheets. “You, too.”

Lovett expects it to be more awkward than it is, shutting his eyes and skimming his hand down his body, but he’s already half-hard. Even if he doesn’t necessarily want to know what Emily’s doing, the idea that she’s doing _anything_ is... kind of doing it for him.

He can’t stop being very aware of where he is. He’s in their marital bed, literally, where they have, Lovett can surmise, performed a plethora of sexual acts. Where Jon has, undoubtedly, done what Lovett’s doing now. Where he’s reached down his annoyingly nice body and wrapped a hand around his cock and moaned in his low voice. Probably thrown his head back, eyelashes dark and thick against his cheeks, mouth parted, licking his lips. Maybe Emily’s watched, too. Maybe she’s told him to do it, for her. Maybe they —

Lovett has a rule, generally, to not think about his friends when he jerks off. Normally he doesn’t have any interest in fantasizing about them, but with some people — with _Jon_ — he’s had to consciously avoid doing it. When Jon was newly his boss, it wasn’t so bad. Before Lovett got to know him, it evened the playing field in his head a little. Once they were more like friends, he had to put the kibosh on it quickly. Jon was always out there chatting up and dating beautiful people, beautiful _women_ , anyway.

He knows, objectively that Jon and Emily are gorgeous people, but he’s never put any serious thought into them fucking before. Now he can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about the fact that they’ve done it where he literally is. Emily’s so _small_ , too. Maybe Jon lifts her up sometimes, or presses her against the wall. And maybe sometimes Emily tells Jon exactly what she wants and how she wants it.

Except, no. Lovett’s pretty confident she always does that, or at least that Jon’s well-trained by now, to her needs, her whims. Lovett can’t help but think of Jon with her, now. Of him between her legs, maybe even under the covers. Of him putting his clever fingers to good use, his plush mouth. Maybe she holds him down there forever, sometimes, maybe —

Emily gasps, a bitten off sound that makes Lovett look over without meaning to. She has her eyes closed, and her brow is wrinkled, lips parted. She looks — good, he has no qualms about admitting that to himself. She looks like sex, because that’s what she’s _doing_. She’s… touching herself, pleasuring herself. She’s getting herself off, or trying to, right next to Lovett.

It’s then that he realizes how fast he’s jacking himself, and the sound of it is unmistakable and loud to his ears. He didn’t expect any of this to work for him, at least not this well. He opens his mouth to ask if she’s close, because he doesn’t want to make it awkward by coming way before her. Instead what comes out is, “Do you think Jon knows?”

She gasps again, and Lovett swears he can hear a sort of wet sound over the ambient music. “Like is he thinking about this?” she asks. “At work? In the office that he shares with you and Tom?”

“In the office with Tommy there,” Lovett points out, trying not to feel weird about it.

Emily makes a sound not unlike a moan. “Thank god you guys have— have more than one, _god_ , bathroom now.”

“Fuck,” Lovett mutters under his breath, because all he can think of now is Jon making his excuses and racing to the bathroom, locking himself inside and shoving a hand inside his chinos and — “Do you really think he would?” Lovett asks, a little strangled.

Emily laughs, the sound all breathy. “I don’t think he would normally, no. Not there, not at— at Crooked, no. But I think he wants to right now.”

“Well, yeah, imagining you. Like this.”

“Imagining us,” Emily corrects, and a shiver goes all the way down Lovett’s spine. “Thinking about what we were going to do. He doesn’t. Oh god, Lovett. He doesn’t _know_.”

“Know what?” Lovett gasps out.

“Know what we’re doing. Or not doing.”

Lovett groans, twisting his wrist. He wouldn’t — he doesn’t want to have full-on sex with Emily, but what if that’s what Jon is imagining, sitting in their office and so, so hard. What if that gets Jon off, imagining his best friend and his wife fucking? What if Jon would want to watch, wants to be here, now, watching?

“Fuck, I’m so—” Emily makes a frustrated sound. “Sorry. Is it okay if I?” She pats his arm and the zing of physical contact makes him want to whine. She’s touching the arm that he’s using to jerk himself off, and her touch makes the lingering headache he can feel building fade away. He’s going to get Pavloved into sleeping with a woman, somehow. He kind of already has.

“Whatever’s fine,” he says through gritted teeth, stopping the movement of his hand, watching her gesture toward the nightstand with — _fuck_ — wet fingers. He’s not sure what she’s going to get out, but he risks it. They’re straights, sure, but some straight people use lube, too, he knows. They’re not all troglodytes. “Lube?”

“Yeah, hang on,” she says, shuffling around in the little drawer for something. She hands over the bottle without looking, and he takes it, a little impressed to see it’s more than half empty. Or less than half full, depending on how he’s looking at it. Then he sees her pull a petite, hot pink vibrator bullet out of the drawer that is, honestly, adorable. It’s so small and bright.

“Oh,” Lovett says, feeling his mind go a little more blank, bringing his hand back to his cock, slicked up so the glide is easier.

“Okay?” Emily asks, but she’s already pushing her hand back under the covers.

“Yeah, of course,” Lovett says. “Whatever you, uh. Whatever you need. Or want. I don’t— I’m good.”

“Good,” Emily says, and then she must switch it on because her eyelids flutter and Lovett can hear the faint vibrations. Her hips start rocking into it, little, hitching movement that he can’t really feel thanks to how ridiculously good their mattress is, but he can see her body twitch under the duvet just fine.

He swallows and shuts his eyes, focuses back on his cock, on chasing his own pleasure. It’s not exactly a hardship, with Emily’s soft, deep moans as a backdrop. He hears the vibration sound get quieter, muffled, and he’s familiar enough with vibrators, thanks to a few memorable occasions, to recognize that means it’s — _inside_ her.

It sends a shock down his spine, a pulse of heat that he can’t help moaning at, too sudden to try to bite back the sound.

“Lovett, are you—?” Emily asks, gasping, and she’s reaching out for him tentatively when he looks over, eyes slitted. “Can I? I want to see you. Jon, let me see you." Her hand brushes his neck, just barely edging underneath the collar of his shirt, and he slams his eyes closed, barely catching his come with his other hand so it doesn’t get all over the sheets.

He hears her groan, the sound throaty and low, and his dick twitches in his hand. He knows, now. He knows what Emily sounds like, when she comes. And she knows what he sounds like, in return. She know what he _looks_ like. He has to —

“Not to break the afterglow,” Lovett says. “But I’m really curious if that worked at all.”

“For sure,” Emily says, taking the joke bait, though she stays on her back, chest heaving a little under her t-shirt. He realizes the shirt is big on her, maybe too big to even be the fault of an ill-fitting free college tee. Big enough that it was probably Jon’s, at one point. Maybe he bought it from the campus bookstore when he was visiting her, when they first fell swiftly and perfectly in love, a lifetime ago.

Lovett swallows, hard, and fishes for his underwear and pants on the floor, pulling them on one-handed, trying not to think about the come cooling in his other hand.

“Here,” Emily says, and when he looks over, she’s sitting up and handing him a box of tissues.

“You’re a godsend,” he says. He makes a vague gesture at the door. “I’m gonna…”

“You do you, babe,” she says, her voice even. She smiles, quick, when he looks up, but he can see the tightness in her face, in how she’s holding herself.

“That was—” he starts and stops, rubbing a hand against his chest. “All things considered, that was— you were, uh. Thanks.”

As soon as she nods, he makes a run for it, relieved when he doesn’t immediately double over in pain. “C’mon, Angel,” he says, scooping up Pundit, “wanna go home?”

 

His car’s been in their driveway for days now, and it’s a weird comfort to actually drive it again, and then to close his own door on the world. He hasn’t been in his house alone since last Tuesday, and it’s a relief to be here now, surrounded by familiar messiness. He checks in at work, makes sure there’s no fires to put out, and ignores Jon’s message of, _You went home? Is that safe? Is everything okay?_

Then he takes a hit, turns his phone off and the PS4 on, and settles into his couch, Pundit sprawled next to him. He wants to lose himself in something challenging and mindless for as long as he can before the pain comes back. If it comes back. Maybe he’ll, _they’ll_ be lucky. “Lucky” feels like the wrong word, though, and he doesn’t want to parse out why that is.

It takes Jon under hour to show up, and he lets himself in without so much as knocking. His face is a comical mix of stony and concerned. Lovett expected him sooner, so he’s a little higher than he meant to be in the face of Jon’s disapproving eyebrows. Lovett sighs and pauses the game.

“Well,” Jon says, “good to know that, uh. That works, I guess.” Lovett can see his face going red. “You doing okay?”

“Shouldn’t you be checking on, oh, I don’t know, your wife?” Lovett says, but it’s not quite as snippy as he imagined.

Jon rolls his eyes. “Emily told me to come over.”

Lovett chews on his lip. “Did she— did you guys talk?”

Jon sits down next to him, rubbing his hands on his thighs for a second before he nods, eyes firmly on the paused TV screen. “Uh huh.”

“And?”

“It’s— I.” Jon is the reddest Lovett’s ever seen him when he’s not laughing so hard he can’t breathe. Or crying. Jon shakes himself a little and looks up at Lovett. “Are you okay?” he repeats, eyes imploring.

Lovett shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, I. I think I am. It’s just— weird, you know? Is it not weird for you?”

Jon’s eyes cut to the side, catching on the pipe. “‘Weird’ isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Want me to pack a new bowl?”

“God yes,” Jon breathes, and Lovett can’t help but laugh.

It doesn’t take much for Jon’s shoulders to start to relax, for him to loll back onto the couch, giggling as Lovett tries to explain something about CERN to him. He distracts Lovett with enough purposely dumb and extraneous questions that Lovett loses his own thread, and he ends up talking about an alternate reality episode of The X-Files instead.

“It’s actually a kind of sweet Christmas story, like. Overall,” Lovett finishes.

“With a murder-suicide,” Jon says, dubious, then coughs as he exhales smoke.

Lovett shrugs. “To each their own.”

“I guess it’s… sort of romantic?” Jon offers with a grimace.

“Speaking of romantic,” Lovett says, because he’s not going to get an actual segue here, “so what d’you think about me getting off with your wife?”

Jon chokes on the water he’s drinking, and then has to spend a lot of time soothing Pundit from where she got all wet because of it. “I know, I know, I’m terrible,” he’s saying to her, avoiding looking at Lovett. He clears his throat and says, “I thought it was, uh. I think it’s— hot.”

“What,” Lovett says, completely flat, because he can’t have heard Jon right, so he’s not questioning what he said. He’s just — that can’t be it.

Jon shrugs. “The idea that it was, you know. That you both. I mean, Emily’s _Emily_ , and you’re— you.”

“I’m… me.”

Jon nods. “Yeah, you— I. You’re… you know?”

“Uh, no. I do not know. Wanna buy a vowel?”

Jon laughs, and some of the nervous energy seeps out of him. He looks up at Lovett, eyes bright, if a little red-rimmed. “You’re hot,” he proclaims, like that’s just a thing. A known thing. A thing that he can say aloud and get a consensus on.

Lovett looks pointedly down at himself and back to Jon. “Have you seen yourself? You’re the hot one.” Jon looks inordinately pleased by that, ducking his head and smiling. “And Emily, obviously. You really married up.”

“Fuck yeah I did,” Jon says. “Why can’t we all be hot?”

“I guess we— wait, what are we—” Lovett shakes his head. “No, hang on. What did you and Emily talk about. Like, about me, and— and earlier, the whole sex thing of it all. She said you guys had talked about it?”

“We talked about you,” Jon says, leaning forward like that’s supposed to mean something. “We talked about you, being with— with us. Like, y’know, in bed. And— and all the time, if you want.”

Lovett’s mouth is so, so dry and he doesn’t think it’s just the pot. “With. With both of you? With you?”

“Unless you don’t want that,” Jon rushes to add.

“But you do.”

Jon bites his lip, and Lovett can tell he’s fighting not to hide behind Pundit. “I do. I have for, uh. For a long time.”

“Did you guys talk about this,” Lovett asks, speaking slowly, “before or after Emily and I were cursed, or whatever?”

“Before, originally. Both, I guess.”

“Huh,” Lovett says. “Well.”

“Well?” Jon’s expression is stupidly hopeful, and Lovett wishes he was half the cynic he pretends to be sometimes. He wishes he hadn’t bought in on Jon’s hope for ten years of his life already. Jon and Emily already proved they’d follow Lovett anywhere, maybe he can prove something back to them.

But it’s Jon. Jon, his best friend. Jon, his partner who he started a company with. Jon, the husband of one of his other best friends. His entire social circle and career are tied up with and around Jon.

“What’re you thinking about?” Jon asks, voice low, and he’s much closer than he was the last time Lovett looked.

“Risk assessment,” Lovett says, and he gasps when Jon’s hand is suddenly on his jaw, fingers long and sure. Then he gasps again when his heart and head lurch so hard he thinks he’s going to be sick, the pain a white hot thing flaring up behind his eyes. “Oh fuck, _fuck_.”

“Emily,” Jon says, tightly. Then he’s turning off Lovett’s TV, clipping on Pundit’s leash, and leading Lovett outside to wait for a Lyft, arm tight around his shoulders.

“Can’t you just drive?” Lovett asks, voice barely more than a whisper. “It’ll be faster. It’s not that far.”

“Yep, because a DUI would be great press for Crooked,” Jon says, herding Lovett into a car.

“Might increase our street cred,” Lovett reasons, and it’s not even that good of a joke, but Jon starts laughing and can’t stop. He’s still giggling when they arrive at his and Emily’s house, tipped into his shoulder in the backseat, his breath against Lovett’s neck. Lovett’s still in an astronomical amount of pain, but having Jon close like this soothes it a little, makes it easier to bear. Some kind of placebo effect.

Emily’s waiting at the door for them. Or, rather, she’s slumped, cross-legged in the foyer. She groans when Jon pulls her to her feet, and she immediately launches herself at Lovett, holding him close, touching his face. The calm nothingness of being pain-free washes over him, and he sighs when she does.

“So that bought us a few hours,” she says, and he nods. She pulls back, smirking. “Guess we’ll just have to try harder next time.”

Lovett knows he looks like a deer in headlights. “Try... harder?”

“Absolutely,” Jon says, smiling at Lovett over Emily’s head.

Later, when they’re in bed together, their fingertips just barely touching, Emily says, smiling, “You got my husband high.”

“I’m good for some things,” Lovett says smugly.

Emily’s smile widens. “Good. Did you guys talk, then?”

“Yeah, we— he. He said that he, he likes me?” Lovett hates that he sounds like a middle schooler.

“He does,” Emily agrees. “He very, very, _very_ much likes you. And so do I. Is that okay?”

“I can’t control how you feel,” Lovett points out, because it feels like the adult thing to say.

“No, you can’t. But you could tell us how _you_ feel.”

Lovett rubs at his face with the hand that was touching Emily’s, then brings it back almost right away, to stave off the pain. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I mean, it’s you guys. I’ve probably always been a little in love with you. I think it’s impossible to not be, knowing you both. But this is— it’s a lot.”

“I know, Emily says, twisting her hand to interlace her fingers with Lovett’s. “We’re here, whenever you’re ready.”

 

Getting off together proves to only be a band-aid fix, but it’s enough that they can be apart for their own events and activities, and resume some semblance of their normal lives. The convenient thing, of course, is that Lovett already spent almost all his time with them, now he and Emily just have to figure out when they need time to themselves for one reason or another. (“Not that planning all my sexual encounters isn’t, like. Super hot for me,” Lovett jokes, and both Emily and Jon frown at him, Jon much less subtly.)

The real problem now is that Jon is very aware of what they’re doing behind closed doors, which in turn makes Lovett very aware that Jon is aware. They try to rub one out when Jon’s at work, or at the gym, but then sometimes he makes up some transparent excuse to get out of the house to give them private time. (Always says something like, “So you can, uh, charge up.” To which Emily rolls her eyes and says, “We’re not batteries.”)

He’s always so squirrelly when he comes back, like he’s been turning the thought of them over and over in his head like a worry stone. When Lovett announces he’s off to game night one evening, right after Jon has come back from a totally pointless trip to Gelson’s, Jon looks so relieved that Lovett wants to laugh.

He doesn’t stop thinking about what Jon and Emily are up to all night, though. Thinking about how Emily’s already wet and ready for Jon, thanks to how she touched herself with Lovett lying next to her. Wondering if they fuck in their bed, where he’s been sleeping, where the pillows smell like him. Maybe they talk about him, too. About what they’d do with him if he were there, how they’d touch him, or how he’d touch them.

When he gets back to their house later that night, thankfully before any pain has settled in, Jon’s already in the spare bed and Emily’s waiting up for him. “Sorry,” she says, “Jon’s zonked. He gets like that after— never mind.” She’s blushing, the color painting her cheeks. “Sorry,” she repeats, “I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s okay,” Lovett says. “It’s kind of hot, actually.” She smiles at that, and he takes her hand and pulls her up from the couch, leading the way to the bedroom.

 

“What if we tried something, um. More,” Emily says the next morning, after Jon’s already left. They’re sitting right next to each on the couch, bare forearms touching.

“More?”

Emily nods, solemn. “Yeah, more. More sexual, I guess. Or more intimate, somehow. So we can extend the time, maybe actually go to our respective offices, for one.”

“I can’t fuck you,” Lovett says, because that’s been his worry for a few days now, that it would come to this, and it feels like something that needs to be said. He feels gutted, that he can’t do this for her. That he can’t make it better.

“I know,” Emily says, and he can hear the soothing note in her voice. It makes something in him settle, knowing she’s not going to try and push him. Knowing she understands. “But what if you fucked Jon?”

Lovett sputters. “How would that help?”

“I’ll be there, too. We could— I looked up positions.”

“You looked up _positions_ ,” Lovett hisses, and, to his simultaneous horror and admiration, she starts pulling up bookmarks on her laptop.

“We’ll figure something out,” Lovett says, not looking at the screen. “Something else.”

Emily faces him with a hard-eyed look of determination. “Like what? Sure, I could probably go to work with you every day, but I have my own job, Jon. I have my own career and my own goals and they’re not, contrary to popular belief, intrinsically tied to my husband’s!” Her voice rises as she speaks, and Lovett’s panicked to see tears in her eyes. “I know it’s asking a lot, Lo. I fucking know. But you— you’re already the most important to us. You’re already everything. We’re just asking for a little bit more.”

“A little bit more,” Lovett echoes, and his voice sounds hollow. Because he’s already inextricable from this gorgeous, sunshiny couple. He does everything with them, and it’s impossible to separate where his life begins or ends or branches away from theirs. He’s never felt like a third wheel, not even in the very beginning, when he first met Emily. He’d always fit into their puzzle, and they’d always fit into his, and nothing’s been bent or forced.

“We’re kind of in love with you,” Emily says, her voice small, hand clutched in his. It’s so rare, to see her like this, uncertain and asking for something she’s not sure she’ll get. Like he wouldn’t give her the world in a heartbeat.

“I can’t go back,” Lovett says, “if we do this. I can’t go back from having… this. I won’t be able to pretend I’m fine.”

“We don’t want you to go back, either of us. We want you to go forward,” she says, with a cheesy grin, and he laughs, the sound a little wet.

“I don’t know how much I can, uh, do. With you. But I very much want to do a lot with Jon,” he says, laying it all out there.

Emily’s smile sharpens. “I can get behind that,” she says. “Or you can. Or he can.”

“Oh my god,” Lovett says, in fake affront, taking his hand away so he swat at her. She’s laughing so hard at her own dumb joke that he thinks of Jon. “Are you twelve?”

She smiles angelically at him. “Jon Lovett, please sleep with me and my husband.”

Lovett sighs, fake put-upon. “I guess I can have sex with—”

“And date!” Emily interjects.

“Have sex and be in a weird, polyamorous relationship with LA’s most beautiful couple.”

Emily snorts. “Yeah, no competition at all out here in the land of movie stars.”  
  
“To you two? None at all.” Lovett says, smooth as anything, and Emily smiles, delighted.

“Want to help me seduce Jon?”

“I somehow don’t think it’ll take much effort. He already knows, right? That you were going to talk to me?”

“Of course,” Emily says, “but I like to surprise him. Keep him on his toes.”

“Sure?” he says, not quite positive what he’s signing on for.

Emily claps, excited. “Tonight? Let’s go out to dinner.”

“Do you want to, uh…” Lovett makes a jerk-off motion with his hand.

“Actually I think it’d be better if we, um. If we waited?” Emily ventures. “Saved all that for when we’re with him?”

“Oh.” Lovett’s whole body feels hot with the implication. He and Emily will have to be touching while they have — have sex. With Jon. They’ll have to be touching all night, too. He clears his throat, his voice a little croaky when he says, “Alright.”

“I know, right?” Emily says. “It’ll drive him crazy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Lovett says, before he can stop himself, and Emily smiles wide.

 

Lovett wears one of Jon’s low-cut v-necks on Emily’s suggestion, and even though it’s a bit long, it pulls flatteringly — according to Emily — over his shoulders, where it’s a little too small. Everything about what Emily’s wearing is flattering, from the strappy sundress that’s so thin Lovett swears he can almost see through it, to the bright heels that make her legs look a mile long.

Jon whistles when he gets home from work, or tries to. He’s never been very good at it, in Lovett’s experience. “Special occasion?” Jon asks, his eyes skipping between the two of them.

“Date night,” Emily says, self-assured and leaving no room for argument. “Let’s go.”

Jon gives her a dumb little salute of agreement and catches her in his arms before she can herd him back out the door. He kisses her hello, her hand wrapped firmly around Lovett’s arm.

“I get both of you?” Jon asks, his face very close to Lovett’s, and Lovett can only manage a nod. Jon smiles wide. “Awesome. Where’re we headed?”

Dinner is a blur of good food and good drinks and possibility. Lovett and Emily have to stay in contact for most of the time, and Jon just keeps watching them, his eyes growing darker as the night wears on. He reaches over the table, sometimes, to touch Emily’s hand, letting his fingers brush over Lovett’s, too.

On the walk back to the house, Emily says, “Lovett and I were thinking we should try to up the ante a little.”

Jon’s brow furrows. “Yeah? How so?”

“By having sex,” Emily says, clear and direct.

Jon trips on the uneven sidewalk, and Lovett helps steady him. Jon looks back at him for a long time. “That’ll— you want to?”

“Yeah, I do,” Lovett says. “And I— _we_ want you there, too. Like a, a conduit.”

“You’ll be our go-between, baby,” Emily says, reaching up to touch Jon’s face. He nuzzles into her palm, laying a kiss there. She watches Lovett as she says the next part. “You’ll fuck me, and I want to watch Lovett fuck you.”

“Jesus,” Jon says, looking around them wildly. His voice is a little strangled. Lovett gets it. He hadn’t thought, when Emily said he should fuck Jon — he didn’t think she meant literally. Or he thought maybe Jon would fuck _him_. Jon shakes his head. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Em.”

Emily sticks her chin out, imperious as ever. “I can and I will. You game?”

“Am I—? Of course I’m fucking, what kind of question—” Emily cuts Jon off with a kiss that’s a little too intense given they’re in a residential neighborhood and sun hasn’t set all the way yet. When she lets him go and takes Lovett’s hand again, Jon turns to Lovett. “You’re okay with this?”

“What kind of question is that?” Lovett parrots back at him, but he reaches up and presses his thumb to Jon’s bottom lip, where it’s wet from kissing Emily. Jon’s tongue darts out, just a little, licking at Lovett. Lovett jerks away like he’s been shocked. “We should get home,” he announces loudly, turning on his heel and dragging Emily along. Jon’s laugh follows them.

Lovett’s able to hold on to some of his bravado all the way into the house, where Jon dutifully lets out the dogs. Emily leans into Lovett, their fingers linked, and Jon looks surprised to find them both watching him from where he's crouched down to pet Leo.

“What is it?” he asks, eyes flitting between them.

“Maybe we just like looking at you,” Emily says, and Lovett shifts next to her but doesn’t — can’t — move away. It’s okay, now, for him to look at Jon. For him to admit he wants to look at Jon. Jon grins and shakes his head, looking down. Emily smirks at Lovett. “Jon likes being looked at,” she says, and Lovett feels his heart beat three times as fast. That’s something he gets to know. Emily swings their joined hands, nudging him. “Tell him to come to bed with us.”

Lovett can do that. Lovett can do better than that. “Hey, Jon, I know what your wife looks like when she comes. I want to know what you look like, too.”

“Jesus,” Jon mumbles, scrambling to his feet, and Emily squeezes Lovett’s hand. Jon stops in front of them, leaning down to kiss Emily. Lovett gets a front row seat, and it’s — it’s nice. Well, it’s hot, actually. How well they know one another, the give and take of it, the way they both close their eyes, melting into each other. Emily pulls back and tilts her head at Lovett, and suddenly Jon is there, smiling down at him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, almost nervous.

Fuck this, Lovett thinks, grabbing the front of Jon’s shirt and yanking him down. Their teeth clack together at first, but then Lovett tips his chin up and their mouths slide together, smooth and hot. Jon moans at the first touch of his tongue, and Emily squeezes Lovett’s hand again. Lovett is content to kiss him until they have to pull apart to breathe, and he’s gratified to see Jon looking a little winded. A little awed.

“Bedroom?” Emily says.

“Bedroom,” Lovett and Jon agree at the same time, and there’s a chorus of laughter as all three of them make a run for it.

Emily goes for Lovett’s shirt when they get there, pulling it over his head like it’s nothing, and Jon watches hungrily until Emily starts on his own shirt. He wraps his hands around her waist, fingertips on the zipper, and she turns to Lovett, leaving Jon’s abs all on display. “I think I’ll leave the dress on,” she says, her tone considering. She tilts her head, still looking at Lovett. “Does that work?”

Lovett lets out a nervous breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “That’s— that’s perfect, yeah.”

She smiles, and rucks up her dress to pull at something — her underwear, Lovett realizes, watching something nude-colored and lacy-looking fall to her ankles. She kicks out of them, and Jon’s watching her now. She smacks him on the ass, “Go on, get naked. Both of you. Help Lovett out.”

“I don’t really need—” Lovett starts, but then Jon’s in front of him, hands on the button of his jeans. Jon quirks an eyebrow, hands held still. “Alright,” Lovett says, “alright, fine. Go ahead.”

Jon does, unbuttoning and unzipping Lovett’s jeans with an ease that belies how wide-eyed he is. He hooks his fingers in the belt loops so he can pull them down, and Lovett swallows when they catch at his knees. Jon bends down to keep pushing them, so Lovett can step out of the fabric.

“While you’re down there,” Emily suggests, and Jon kneels right away, reaching for Lovett’s underwear. “Is this okay?” she asks, leaning into Lovett.

“Ye— yeah, it’s. It’s okay. Go ‘head,” he says, and he touches shaking hands to Jon’s face, his hair. Jon mouths at his hardening cock through his boxer briefs before peeling them down, and Lovett awkwardly steps out of them, too, trying not to knee Jon in the face. Jon licks at the tip of his cock, then down the shaft and back up, and Lovett’s hardening up in no time.

“Have you done this before?” he asks, and before Jon can answer, he turns to Emily. “Has he?”

Emily shakes her head. “Not like this. Just to my— to a, uh. To a dildo. A strap-on, I mean.”

Lovett groans, both from the visual and from Jon taking the head of Lovett’s cock into his mouth. Emily wraps her arm around his bare back, holding him close. Practically holding him up, considering how weak his knees already feel.

“Not that this isn’t— ah!” Lovett says, or tries to say.

Emily reaches around him and taps Jon’s cheek, where it’s bulging around Lovett’s cock. He opens his eyes, looking up at them. “That’s good,” Emily says, “but we don’t want Lovett to come yet, right?”

Jon shakes his head, letting Lovett’s cock fall from his lips, laying a kiss to Lovett’s hip before he stands. Emily steps in, unbuttoning Jon’s pants, and Lovett does the rest, helping Jon get out of the rest of his clothes. Jon’s cock is so hard it slaps against his belly when it’s released, and Lovett winces in sympathy.

Emily fists it, once, and Jon shudders, looking at Lovett with his big eyes, like Lovett can help him. “You’re going to eat me out,” she tells Jon, and Jon moans a little, the sound breathy, “and then Lovett’s going to fuck you, okay?” Jon’s nodding before she’s through the sentence, and Lovett finds himself nodding along. He feels a little like he’s on fire, but in a good way.

Emily walks to the bed, grabbing Lovett’s hand to tug him with her. Eventually she gets him arranged at the headboard, and she takes his hand while she lies sideways across the bed, her hips close enough to the edge that Jon can kneel on the floor and get her thighs over his broad shoulders.

Lovett knows whenever Jon does something particularly good by how Emily’s hand flexes in his, or how she throws her head back next to his hip. Her other hand is in Jon’s hair, though she seems to be petting him more than directing him. One of Jon’s hands is spread across her hip, holding her dress up, and his other is, presumably, slipping a finger or two inside her judging by the sounds and the way Emily is moaning.

“Are you gonna make her come?” Lovett asks, surprising even himself. “Are you, Jon?”

Jon groans, the sound muffled because he’s buried between Emily’s thighs, and Lovett feels incredibly naked and exposed with how hard he is from all of this.

“He is,” Emily says, her voice reedy. “He is, because he’s so good at this. Aren’t you, baby? You’re so good for me, for us.”

Jon redoubles his efforts, picking up the pace, if the way Emily’s reacting is anything to go by. He seems to be moving his head faster, too, a little more aggressive, and Lovett can tell Emily’s close, because he knows, now, what she sounds like just before she comes.

“Right there,” Emily gasps out. “Don’t— don’t stop.” Jon doesn’t, apparently, because the next sounds Emily makes is a low-pitched one Lovett recognizes, and her hand grips his so tight it hurts. Jon groans and keeps going, until Emily pushes him away. He stays on his knees for a second, looking up at them, before he’s crawling up the bed, up Emily’s body, kissing her deep and sure before he looks to Lovett, uncertain.

In for a penny, Lovett thinks, and he tugs Jon to him, so Jon’s sprawled over Emily. Lovett can taste her on his mouth. It’s different than he’s used to, but it’s not bad. He likes knowing Jon got Emily off, how good he made her feel. He likes knowing how good they’re going to make _Jon_ feel.

Emily wiggles her way out from underneath Jon to reach for the bedside drawer. “C’mon,” she says, slapping his thigh, and Jon lifts himself up on all fours, though he doesn’t give up on kissing Lovett.

Lovett breaks away from Jon to look over at Emily. “Do you want me—?”

“I’ve got it,” she says, smirking, and Jon whines and pushes his face into Lovett’s throat.

“I know,” Lovett says, a little nonsensically, petting his hand through Jon’s hair, tipping his head back so Jon has more room. “How often do you do this?” Lovett asks, after Emily’s uncapped the lube and is situated behind Jon.

“This? Fairly often, I like opening him up when I blow him,” she says, matter-of-factly. “He goes wild for it.”

“Em,” Jon mumbles, his voice embarrassed. Lovett could see it, though, with the way Jon’s already pressing his hips back for her. He keeps touching Jon’s hair, his neck, trailing his hands to Jon’s shoulders and back up.

“The whole thing, with the strap-on,” Emily continues, “a little less frequently.”

Lovett nods. “I’d like to see it, at some point. If you don’t, uh. If you don’t mind. Next time?”

Jon and Emily both moan, and Emily nods. She must finally push a finger inside Jon, because his next moan is deeper, and his hips jerk. Emily fits her hand around Lovett’s bare ankle, keeping the connection between them.

“That’s it,” Emily says, “relax, baby. Did you hear? Lovett wants to watch me fuck you sometime. That sound good?”

“Ye— yeah,” Jon says, into Lovett’s chest, where his head is bowed. His elbows are locked and shaking. He’s just miles of warm skin and tanned, tone muscles held carefully over Lovett, and Lovett can’t stop touching him, running his hands over Jon’s back so insistently that Jon keeps letting his weight sag against Lovett. Or maybe that’s Emily’s ministrations breaking him down until he can barely hold himself up.

He keeps tipping his chin back up to kiss Lovett, but he gets distracted so easily, mouthing at Lovett’s neck mindlessly as he moans. His hips rock back into Emily’s hand, his cock brushing Lovett’s, and Lovett’s going to reach a breaking point soon.

“I could,” Jon offers, his words slurred against Lovett’s chest, which he’s dipping his head to kiss, “suck you off again?” He carefully balances himself on one arm, and reaches out, curling his stupidly perfect fingers around Lovett’s cock. “I’d like to,” he adds, smiling sharply. “I’ve thought about it.”

Lovett’s cock jerks in his hand, and it takes a lot of willpower not to just shove Jon off him. “As appealing as that sounds, I’d like to not come as soon as I get inside you,” Lovett says, his voice strained.

“We could, we have. A cock ring?” Jon says, his voice going up at the end in question.

Emily nods at Lovett, peaking around Jon’s ass to confirm. She winks and pats Jon’s hip, letting go of Lovett briefly. “Think we shouldn’t save that for you instead?” she asks. “I was thinking you could fuck me while Lovett’s inside you.”

Jon makes a sound into Lovett’s skin, a rumbling whine that’s all at once the hottest and the most pathetic thing Lovett’s ever heard.

Lovett tries to pretend like he doesn’t feel just as shell-shocked as Jon. He taps Jon’s cheek, prompting him to look up, and smirks at him when he does. “She’s been looking up positions.”

“Of course she has,” Jon mutters, pushing his hips back. His eyes screw closed for a second, handsome face scrunched up as he moans, and Lovett’s a little sad he can’t see what Emily’s doing. Maybe another time, and maybe another time he’ll get to be the who opens Jon up, gets to feel him from the inside like that.

“Slick Lovett up for me, yeah?” Emily says, and her voice is getting a little breathy again. It’s not a surprise that she likes doing this — she doesn’t do much of anything she doesn’t like — but Lovett's a bit surprised at how into it she is. Surprised and turned on. She squeezes Lovett’s ankle and shifts back to give Jon a little more space.

“What’s the, uh.” Jon licks his lips, and Lovett watches avidly, noticing Emily doing the same. “What position?”

“You’re going to lie down. Here, hand me a pillow?” She gently, and firmly, pushes Jon onto his back on the bed, pushing a pillow under his ass so his hips are in the air. Now Lovett’s gonna fuck you, from here.” She’s between Jon’s spread legs, running her hands up his thighs, and Lovett feels like he’s burning up from the inside. She lets go of Jon and moves back to his side, pressing her arm against Lovett’s. “Then I’m going to ride you,” she says, like it’s all simple.

“So he’s just going to lie there, and we’re going to do all the heavy-lifting,” Lovett says. For clarity. He can’t stop thinking of how close that means he and Emily will be.

“Pretty much,” Emily says, sticking her tongue out at Jon, who grins and does it back. They’re disgustingly cute. She turns to Lovett. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s. That’s great. Jon can be a pillow princess if he wants, this time.” Something in him thrills at suggesting there’ll be a next time, and a time after that. Both Emily and Jon smile at him fondly, like they’re thinking the same thing. His eyes are burning a little so he blinks rapidly. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Emily keeps a hand on Lovett’s shoulder as he arranges himself in the cradle of Jon’s legs, touching his thighs the way Emily had, ghosting his fingertips up until he can tease at Jon’s cock for a second before he gets a firm hand around himself. Jon rolls his hips up a little, helpfully, looking at Lovett in breathless anticipation.

Lovett presses forward, groaning as the head of his cock starts to slide in. He watches Jon throw his head back, his adam’s apple bobbing. “What about. Have you done this before?” Lovett asks, words running together. “Like I know you guys have, but. You know.”

Jon shakes his head, eyes closed. “Only with Em.”

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Lovett says, sliding in a little deeper, loving the way he can see a muscle jumping in Jon’s thigh, can see the way his stomach is trembling a little, his body tensed. “You feel so good,” Lovett says, both because he wants Jon to relax and because it’s true. “So— so fucking tight.”

Jon moans, reaching forward. Lovett leans forward to grab his hand, and Emily does, too, their fingers overlapping on Jon’s. “You have to relax, hun,” Emily says. “You’ve gotta relax so Lovett can get all the way inside you—” Lovett grits his teeth as Jon clenches around him, so obviously into the picture Emily’s painting him. “Then you can fuck me, too, okay? Remember?”

Jon nods, but Lovett has a feeling he’d agree to anything right now, if he’s even listening. Emily leans down to kiss him and Lovett rocks his hips in slow, subtle motions, easing his cock further inside with each one, and the slide gets easier the closer he gets to bottoming out, Jon opening up for him like his mouth is opening to Emily’s right now. When Lovett’s all the way inside, panting a little, marveling at the long stretch of Jon’s legs all folded up by his sides, Jon finally opens his eyes, staring at Lovett like he’s awestruck.

“Feel good?” Emily asks. When Jon only nods, she adds, “Tell us.”

“ _So_ good,” Jon says, his voice soft. “Lovett, you’re—” He swallows and turns to Emily, a wide-eyed look on his face. “He’s thicker than the toy.”

Lovett’s going to need to gag him, next time. Or wear his ear plugs, something. He’s not going to last if Jon keeps being so earnest, so wanting.

“Maybe we’ll have to get a new one,” Emily says, getting in close so she can kiss Lovett’s cheek. “Something more comparable.”

He’s going to have to gag both of them, this is ridiculous. He carefully pulls out halfway and pushes back in, testing Jon’s reactions. Jon groans, his hips moving off the pillow a little. Jon’s so responsive, moving into Lovett’s slow thrusts, and Lovett wonders how he’ll cope with Emily’s added weight. If Emily will be able to get enough leverage, or if will Jon put all those shoulder and arm muscles to use and do the work in moving her up and down.

Only one way to find out. Lovett turns to Emily. “You wanna, ah— _fuck_. Want to tag in?”

“Not really tagging in,” Jon gasps, “unless you’re stopping.”

Lovett does stop, holding himself very still, despite everything in him wanting to keep going. “I’m sorry, what was that? Did you want me to stop, to better my sports—”

“ _Was_ that even sports—?” Jon says, and Lovett snaps his hips in, hard, to watch the way Jon’s whole body jerks, his voice lost in a moan.

Emily swings her leg over Jon, holding herself up gingerly, and fists his cock, holding it steady. “Do you want the ring?” she asks, and Jon just shakes his head.

“Probably doesn’t need it,” Lovett gasps. “I don’t think I’ll last that long anyway.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Emily says, and then she’s sinking onto Jon’s cock, fast, causing Jon’s back to arch as he cries out. Her dress pools around her as she moves, bracing herself against Jon’s chest.

It takes them a minute, to figure out the rhythm, and how to balance, but it’s not long at all until Jon can’t stop making noise under them, his hands flexing on both their bodies, whomever he can reach at the time, or clawing at the sheets. He watches them, dazed, writhing beneath them, and Emily leans back into Lovett purposely, his bare chest against her back, only the thin material of the dress keeping all their skin from being pressed together.

“Look, so— so good,” Jon pants out, rolling his hips. “You’re both— perfect.”

Lovett hides his smile in Emily’s shoulder and keeps going, working until he gets the angle just right so that Jon is almost sobbing with it. “You close?” Lovett asks, looking over Emily’s shoulder at him. Jon nods and reaches out, slipping his hand under Emily’s dress, and Emily throws her head back onto Lovett’s shoulder.

“Oh, oh fuck. That’s— so good, babe.” Emily brushes her lips across Lovett’s cheek. “Are you going to come, Lo? Are you gonna fill Jon up for me?”

Jon eyes roll back in his head, but he doesn’t stop touching her, either, and Lovett feels the way her body shudders when she comes. She slumps back against him, moving with the push of Jon’s thrusts a little lazily.

“Go ahead,” she says to Jon, scratching lightly at his chest. “Go ahead so Lovett can come inside you.”

That’s all the encouragement Jon needs, because then he’s tossing his head back, his whole body taut. His face is all screwed-up, but it’s still — _he’s_ still stupidly attractive. He grips Lovett’s arm and Emily’s hip, so tight Lovett wonders if it’ll bruise, and then he relaxes all at once, smiling softly at Lovett.

“Your face—” Lovett gets out, and he hears Emily laugh as he comes, Jon rocking down to meet his last few thrusts. Lovett rests his head on Emily’s shoulder for a long time, feeling the sweat on his body cool, the way they’re both right there, so close. Finally he lifts his head to find Emily smiling, and Jon looking half-asleep. “You think it worked?”

“Mhmm,” Emily says. “Can we wait to find out?”

Lovett fights the smile on his face. “Yeah, I guess we can.”

She leans down to kiss Jon softly before pushing herself off him. The pain is gone for now, and it stays gone even when she heads into the bathroom. Lovett carefully pulls out, resisting the urge to push his fingers back inside, to feel where Jon’s all wet.

“We’ll play it by ear,” Jon agrees, tugging Lovett down onto the mattress next to him, stretching out an arm for Emily when she comes back into the room. “We’re good at that.”

“Just remember, say ‘yes, _and_...’” Lovett says, and Emily laughs, reaching across Jon to link her fingers with Lovett’s. They’re both smiling at him in a way that makes it hard to look, and he knows his face is doing the same thing by how sore his cheeks are getting. He squeezes Emily’s hand. “I’m glad it was you, too.”

Emily winks at him and lifts her head from Jon’s shoulder, looking down at him like she’s considering something. “Can you give this to Lovett for me?”

“Give what—?” Jon asks, but she cuts him off with a kiss, short but deep, warm. Jon’s grinning so hard his eyes are almost closed when she pulls back.

“Well,” Emily says, “go on.” And Jon does, pulling Lovett into them.


End file.
